


Don't Feel Bad for Me

by cannedsquid



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, i think that's the tag i need, johnny is a tough guy :), or at least its like. implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannedsquid/pseuds/cannedsquid
Summary: I didn’t go to the hospital back then, after I got jumped and they found me. Who the hell would’ve paid for it? Instead, I got holed up in the Curtis Intensive Care Unit--their living room couch. After Darry gave me strict orders to stay there and rest for at least a day or two, the guys fussed over me on and off in shifts. I understood why. That was the worst any of us had even been beat, the worst I'd ever gotten, worse than anything my father had ever done to me. When I broke down like that, in front of them all, I think that really scared 'um. So they kept an eye on me while I rolled in and out of consciousness.Dallas, though…Dallas never seemed to leave my side. He didn't say anything, didn't make a big deal like the other guys did. He just sat in Darry’s recliner and watched me nervously...In which I fill in the gaps of what happened after the gang found Johnny after he got jumped really bad.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Don't Feel Bad for Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a couple pre-canon/canon alt pov things I wanna do that are canon compliant or are based off of in-book events. I've been super into writing that kinda stuff lately. also i am physically incapable of not writing a scene where dallas does something dumb and gets himself hurt in a fic. Hope you enjoy! :squid:

Dallas Winston doesn’t give a shit about anyone. That’s his whole thing. It's what I’ve always liked about him. He does whatever the hell he wants, lives his life on his own terms, gets into trouble because he thinks it's funny. He isn’t worried about attachments, the only person whose back he has 100% is himself. Most people think it makes him an asshole. I think it makes him tough.

‘Course, he’s not a monster. He looks out for the gang, just like the rest of us do. We wouldn’t keep him around if he didn’t. He’ll back us up in fights, he’ll help Two-bit steal shit sometimes, he’ll help Darry throw bandages on people when they’re dumb enough to get busted up. It’s not like it was a surprise that he was just as worried as the rest of the gang was when I got busted up real bad. 

I didn’t go to the hospital back then, after I got jumped and they found me. Who the hell would’ve paid for it? Instead, I got holed up in the Curtis Intensive Care Unit--their living room couch. Darry did everything he could to patch me up. I think I had a few cracked ribs or something, it hurt real bad to breathe for a while, so Darry gave me what looked like way too many advil and made me stay still for a while. There wasn't much to do about the gash on my face from the Soc who had the rings. Regardless of all the bandages and gauze Darry put on it, it was gonna be a nasty scar later. At least it'd look pretty tuff. 

After Darry gave me strict orders to stay there and rest for at least a day or two, the guys fussed over me on and off in shifts. I understood why. That was the worst any of us had even been beat, the worst I'd ever gotten, worse than anything my father had ever done to me. When I broke down like that, in front of them all, I think that really scared 'um. Y'know, I don't cry, really. Nothing really jolts the tears outta me these days, I'm just kinda used to it all. If I were to cry about every tough break I get, I'd die of dehydration. But that, that got me. They really could've killed me, if they wanted. And the guys felt that, too. So they kept an eye on me while I rolled in and out of consciousness. 

Dallas, though…Dallas never seemed to leave my side. He didn't say anything, didn't make a big deal like the other guys did. He just sat in Darry’s recliner and watched me nervously, or sorta-read the paper, or chainsmoked and watched the rest of the normal ruckus in the Curtis home. There was one point where Darry brought me something to eat, and he offered a plate to Dally, too. But Dal just took a drag, scowled, and shook his head. I think nicotine was the only nutrient Dal got for two days, while I was under bed arrest. I was almost envious, 'cause I hadn't had a cigarette since the night it happened on account of it hurting to breathe. 

I finally got so sick of laying around after two days that I thought I might explode. I still didn't feel too hot, all sore and smarting on every inch of my body. But I was feeling less dazed and at least I could breathe without it making me wanna tear up. My joints creaked as I stood up and really used them for the first time in 48 hours. I'd stumbled to the bathroom before then, but I hadn't really stretched or anything because I was worried about making myself more sore than I already was. I started to stretch, immediately regretting it as I winced in pain. I clutched my chest as I wandered to the bathroom.

I shut the door and turned the knob on the shower. Maybe I could wash away all the soreness on my body. I stared at my face in the mirror, one eye swollen and bruised, the other half-covered by bandages that covered the gash. I pulled them back, examining the damage. The scab was getting pretty nasty already, but I was just glad it didn’t look infected. After putting the bandages back the best I could, I gently pulled my shirt over my head. Tossing it to the side, I got a good look at the sorry state of my torso. My chest and stomach were painted shades of black and blue, some of the bruises already turning a gross, sallow color. I was thanking the heavens they hadn’t pulled a blade on me on top of everything else. I noticed a big square of gauze on my side that I hadn’t seen before, a smaller cut that I didn’t even remember Darry fussing over. I picked my shirt up off the floor, and noted the rip in it, lining up perfectly with the wound. I tossed it back on the floor and stepped into the shower. 

Almost as soon as I stepped out again, there was a knock on the bathroom door. I glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. I wondered if I woke someone up? 

“Johnny? You good in there?” It was Darry.

I threw a towel around my waist and opened the door. “Yeah, I’m a-okay Darry,” my voice was a lot quieter than I meant it to be. I felt like I was almost whispering. “I was just, finally getting a chance to shower is all.”

Darry nodded. “I came out to check on ya and saw you weren’t there. I heard the shower and guessed, but the water was running an awful long time, so I…” He was scanning my bruised chest with a frown. “I’ll lend you a shirt, I’ve been wanting to wash that one you’ve been wearing since I finished with your cuts. It’s gonna be way too big, but I don’t wanna wake up Soda or Pony right now…” He walked off to his room and I closed the door again. I threw my jeans back on, and holding the crumpled, blood stained shirt, I walked out into the living room. 

My jean jacket was draped over the back of the couch, and picking it up I found it was washed. I guessed that Darry must’ve left it there for whenever I had the energy to clean myself up on my own. I dropped my shirt down on the couch where I had been laying a while before. Dallas was passed out in the recliner, hand still on a cigarette that was snuffed out on an ashtray. I tilted my head, watching his steady breathing with a small smile. He looked nicer when he was asleep.

“He hasn’t left that chair once, I swear to it,” Darry said, making me jump. He noticed me start and quickly apologized. “Sorry, Johnny. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He tossed me a clean black t-shirt. I put it on, and he was right about it being way too big. I was practically swimming in it. Darry was much broader than me, with a lot more muscle mass, so the shirt was baggy and the sleeves came down to almost my elbows. “Dallas has been sitting next to you like that since we got you here. I don’t think he’s eaten at all, gone through three packs of smokes. You’d think he’d never seen someone roughed up before.”

I nodded, watching Dallas again. He almost looked like he was having a rougher time than I did, under his eyes all dark and stubble starting to appear on his chin. It puzzled me. He’d seen people killed in cold-blooded gang fights in New York. And yet he looked like he was gonna lose it just ‘cause I got a little beaten up. 

“If you’re planning on rolling out--which I wish you’d just take it easy still--but if you gotta, don’t leave ‘till morning, alright?” Darry said. I just nodded. I hadn’t been planning to leave yet, anyway. Not at least without talking to Dal. I was worried if I just up and left, he’d go bonkers. He looked like he was on the verge of it. “Goodnight, Johnny,” Darry said, giving me a small wave as he ducked back to his room. I sat back down on the couch, feeling the silence come back to the room. I thought about waking him up, but I wasn't sure how much he'd slept, if he had at all. 

I'd slept plenty, not like I had anything else to do, because if I even thought about getting up Darry would get after me or send Two-bit over to get after me. They thought I was going to hurt myself more if I moved too much. I guess I might've. That first day I was passed out more than I was conscious, I didn't even realize time was passing, really. I'd come to for a while, smarting all over, then I'd breathe wrong or move too much and my chest would hurt so bad I'd be out again in no time. I think I'd had enough advil by the next day to permanently dull any pain I'd feel in the next ten years. I was fine being awake, but I couldn't get up and do nothing on Darry’s orders. Ponyboy had stayed around and we played a card game or two, and Two-bit swung by after a while with direct orders from Darry to remind me that I still couldn't get up and do nothing. He also tried to get a rise out of Dal, but he just shrugged him off and scowled and didn't say anything. I hadn't said anything to him, even when I was awake, 'cause he looked like he didn't want to be talked to. Even by me. 

After Pony got sick of playing card games, I pretty much just slept because it was something to do. But that gets kind of boring after a while, if you ask me. Sometimes I'd lay there, one eye open, just to try to catch what Dal was doing. Mostly he'd just watch me, his face twisted into a nervous expression that I hadn't seen on him before this. He might have slept some during that first day, but from how Darry made it sound, I don't think he did. Shaking my head, I put my jacket to the side. I decided to take a couple more advil, ‘cause the pain was creeping back in, so I walked to the kitchen to grab some water.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I realized my hand was shaking. Couldn’t tell ya why. I put it down, wiped my palms and tried again to get myself some water. They were still shaking. After I’d filled the glass, I set it down again and stretched my fingers out over and over again, hoping to steady them. This was the first time I’d done something in a few days and not passed out a few moments afterwards, I thought to myself. My whole body must’ve been trying to get its land legs back or something. After throwing the pills under my tongue and throwing them back with some water, I wandered back into the living room. 

Dallas was starting to stir, opening one eye and rubbing his other with the hand that still held the cigarette butt. He instinctively looked toward where I’d been laying, and seeing I wasn’t there, shot both eyes open and looked around. His eyebrows furrowed worriedly, but when he spotted me in the doorway, the scared expression melted into relief. He brought the weed to his lips, before realizing it was just a squashed butt, and then dropped it into the ashtray. 

“Yer up,” he said quietly. I just nodded. It was silent for a moment. Then he opened a cigarette carton that was sitting next to him, grabbed the last one and tossed the empty carton to the side. “You gotta light? Steve snagged my zippo.”

I fumbled around in my pocket and found a lighter. He motioned for me to toss it to him, but instead I just walked up and lit it for him. He glanced up at me with a questioning eye, but said nothing. I wanted to get a better look at him. I knew plenty the state I was in. I was worried about the one he was in. His eyes were just as bloodshot as under them were dark. His hand shook, probably from having nothing but nicotine in his system for two days. I sat down on the couch again, shoving the lighter back into my pocket. He didn’t say anything else for a long while, and we just sat there staring at the floor in front of us for a while.

“You leaving here soon?” He asked me, finally.

I shook my head. “Darry said I shouldn’t leave till morning. Don’t think it’d be wise to leave at night, anyway…” My voice was still stuck in that whispery tone I’d had with Darry.

He nodded, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “He’s usually right about shit like that.” It fell silent again. Every time it did, though, it felt louder than anything. “What do you reckon you’ll do in the meantime?” 

I shrugged. “Kick up my feet. Maybe sleep a while longer. Nothin’ else to do at 1 AM.”

“Fair enough.”

“You wanna switch spots, Dal? M’ sure the couch is more comfortable than that chair. You look like you’ve been through hell.” I offered. 

He snorted. “That’s something, coming from the kid with one black eye and the other taped shut.” I frowned. The jab was pretty funny, but I was hoping he’d take the offer. Seeing him so disheveled was worrying me. He seemed to notice, then said, “I’ll be alright, Johnnycake. I don’t need to sleep. I’m plenty awake.” And with that, he stifled a yawn. I raised an eyebrow. “Kay, maybe I’m not awake, but I’ll be fine over here. You don’t need to get a crick in your neck on top of everything else.”

I don’t remember when I fell asleep again. I just remember laying back down and staring at the ceiling for a long while. Darry shook me awake at some point, and I opened my eyes again to the morning sunlight streaming in. I squinted and rubbed my eyes as he told me he and Soda were going to work, and I was free to stay as long as I needed. I just nodded, barely processing the words coming out of his mouth. 

I heard the door close, and Ponyboy ran through a few moments later.

“Hey Johnny!” he said. “How’re you doing this morning?” I guessed Darry must’ve told him he wasn’t forcing me to stay still anymore, ‘cause he seemed a lot more cheery than he had the day before.

I shrugged. “Sore. Can’t see out one eye, got half a line of sight in the other. Y’know?” Some of the cheer in Pony’s eyes seemed to drip away. He must’ve thought that “don’t have to take it easy” translated to “healed by a miracle” or something, ‘cause kids make those kinds of leaps like that and get their hopes up. “I’m at least better than I was, Pony.”

He seemed a little more satisfied with that answer. “Oh, I’m real glad you’re alright after all that, Johnny. You had us all pretty worried.” I just shrugged. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. I was starting to get frustrated with all the fussing and worrying. I knew that I'd been pretty bad off. But it was starting to feel like they didn't think I'd ever been jumped before. Ponyboy shrugged on a jacket and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm heading out for a while, think I'm gonna go bug Soda at work or something," he told me. I nodded, and he headed out the door. 

Looking over at the recliner, I realized Dallas was no longer sitting there. Was I the only one left? I glanced around, noticing Dal's old leather jacket still on the ground near the recliner. Either he was still here, or he left without it. I was more inclined to believe the former. I picked it up off the ground, and started aimlessly walking through the Curtis home. I wasn’t sure what to do, but for some reason I didn't want to leave yet. 

Absentmindedly, I draped the jacket over my shoulders as I walked. The house was dead silent. I was starting to think I was there alone after all...until I heard someone holler from the bathroom.

“Ah, shit!” I rushed over and knocked on the door.

“You alright in there, Dal?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m--” there was some shuffling around, then the door opened. Dallas was holding a towel to his face with one hand and opening the door with the other. “I’m fine.” He muttered. I opened my mouth to ask what happened, but glancing at the scene answered my question. Dal’s switchblade was lying on the sink, blade covered in shaving cream and blood. “Just cut myself shaving is all.”

“Why were you shaving with your blade like that?” I asked. He just shrugged. He wiped his face with the towel, forgetting he was still bleeding, and smeared blood across his chin. 

“Shit,” he said, looking in the mirror. Without another word, I walked over and started dealing with his cut. It was nothing too bad, but it was still gushing blood. I held the towel back to his face, making him hold it there while I found the bandages. He pursed his lips impatiently when I placed his hand deliberately on the side of his face. “I’m fine, Johnny,” he insisted. I wasn’t listening. All I found was a large bandage, the kind you put on skinned knees, but I figured it would do. Returning to my fussing, I moved Dally’s hand back away from the cut. The bleeding was slowing. I peeled back the wrapper and covered the cut. Carefully placing the ridiculously oversized bandaid onto the cut, I caught his icy-blue gaze. My hand lingered on his cheek for a moment as his eyes stayed locked on mine. His eyes quickly darted away, his brow furrowing, and I dropped my hand. Dallas’s face was still an annoyed frown as he looked in the mirror. “I didn’t need you to do that.” I just shrugged. 

“Your chin is still covered in blood,” I commented. He took the towel again, looked at the blood stain as though he were thinkin’ he could wipe away the blood with more blood, and then put it back down. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. He examined the rest of his face, checking for any more stubble that he might’ve missed because of the commotion. 

I leaned against the wall and looked at him, a small smile growing on my face. “We kinda match now, you with your big stupid bandaid and me with all of mine,” I said, picking up his blade and wiping it off. I twisted the point of the blade back and forth on my finger for a moment, watching it shine in the light. He glanced over at me, giving a half smile.

“I guess so.” He grabbed it from me and flicked it closed. I looked up, following the movement on instinct more than anything. He put the blade in his pocket, then gave me a puzzled look. “Are you wearing my coat?” 

I glanced at my own shoulders, confused. “I guess I am,” I’d forgotten I’d draped it over myself. “I found it on the ground in the living room.” I started taking it off, but he shook his head.

“It's fine, I was just...I dunno.” He shook his head again. He turned on the water and washed the blood off his face for real this time and walked out of the bathroom. I took his place in front of the mirror and started examining my face again. 

I wondered how big that scar was going to be when that gash was done and healed. I carefully peeled off the bandages, wanting to finally get a look at it myself. It ran all the way from my cheekbone to the top of my forehead. If the scar’s as long as it is right now, I’d look like a supervillain in a cheesy movie or something, I thought. Maybe that’d make it more tuff. I wasn’t sure. 

“How big is it, anyway? The cut, I mean,” Dallas suddenly said, which about made me jump right out of my skin. He had come back to stand in the doorway, and I guess was quietly studying me again. I turned to look at him, sighing. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” he apologized. But I knew he wasn’t really. 

“It's about that big,” I said, pointing right at it. “I thought you’d seen it. Weren’t you there when Darry was patching me up?” I asked. 

“I mean, I was, but I couldn’t hardly look at you like that,” he said quickly, then immediately deflected. “Damn, they really got you good, huh?” He stepped toward me, his brow furrowed again, and held my face so he could get a good look at it. The way he grabbed my chin to get a better look surprised me, but I didn’t stop him. I’d gotten used to being jostled around to have my injuries assessed at this point. He gently traced beside the cut with his finger, then held my chin forward. A playful smirk spread across his face. “Pony’d probably say something from a poem or something right now about it. What’s the line, “this is a sorry sight” or whatever.”

I laughed a little. “That’s from a play, I think.”

He laughed as well, and let go of my chin. “Like I was saying, I’m not the square, I dunno this shit.” He walked off again, actually doing so this time, and I re-dressed my wound. When I’d wandered back into the living room, he was standing near the kitchen door eating a bowl of cereal, eying the recliner in a way that almost felt wary. I finally shrugged off his jacket, in favor of my own, and handed it back to him. He threw it over one shoulder and continued to eat. It was quiet between us for a bit, ‘till he asked me something through a mouthful of cheerios.

“What are you gonna do now?”

I looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “I dunno. Probably just walk around ‘till I find something to do. Maybe I’ll catch up with Pony or something--”

“Nah, not like, right now,” he interrupted, hardly intelligible through his chewing. He swallowed, then asked again. “Like, what are you gonna do?”

I was real confused. All I could do was look back at him, confused. He didn’t clarify, just looked at me expectantly. “What do you mean, what am I gonna do? I’m just gonna go on with my day, Dal.”

He didn’t seem excited about my answer. “Johnny you just got the worst beatin’ of your life, and now you’re just gonna walk down the street like it never happened? Just like that?”

I was even more confused. “Well, yeah? What else can I do?” I could feel my ribs starting to ache again, but I didn’t pay them much mind. “I guess I’ll take it a little easy, that’s what Darry’d want me to do.”

“I’m just worried about you, is all,” Dallas said, his voice lower than before. 

I felt a pang of anger in my chest. Of all the people I thought doubted my ability to protect myself, Dallas wasn’t even close to making the list. I thought there was a certain amount of respect he had for me. I really thought he of all people would trust I could move forward from this. 

“Don’t be,” I said, bluntly. “You wanna know what I’ll do? I’ll get tough and deal with it. There’s nothing else I can do.”

Dallas scowled. “Don’t get mad, Johnny, I don’t mean you any ill will. The whole gang is worried, we just wanna be sure--”

“Since when do I need to be worried about and made sure about?” I interjected. I was starting to get mad. I was getting pretty damn sick of hearing how worried everyone was for me. 

“Since you nearly got beat to death in the middle of an empty lot,” He snarkily replied. I frowned. He dropped his smirk and added, “Johnny it's just that we...we…” he was struggling to find the right phrase. “I dunno, we just felt--”

“Bad for me?” I finished. His eyebrows scrunched up sympathetically and he pursed his lips, but he stayed silent. That was all the confirmation I needed. “You guys thought I was gonna come out of this trembling and hiding from my own shadow, huh?”

“Johnny that’s not--”

“Well, you’re damn wrong. If anything, this is only gonna make me quicker to the draw. I swear to God I’ll kill the next guy who tries to beat me that bad. Because this shit isn’t worth fussing over and remembering. I just gotta be sure I can mess the next guy up worse than he can me.”

“Johnny, please don’t say--”

“You of all people should know that all there is to do is to toughen up when this stuff happens, Dally. And that’s what I intend to do.”

“Lemme say something Johnny--”

“I don’t want you to pity me. Don’t feel bad for me, don’t cry about me. If you already have, you’ve wasted your time.”

“Johnny--”

“I’m sick of y’all acting like I can’t hold a knife or throw a punch just ‘cause I got it rougher at home. I don’t tremble like a lapdog in a fight. I can hold my own just fine. I don’t need a pity party just ‘cause I got busted up real bad.”

“Johnny, I’m not pitying you,” Dallas insisted. “Maybe the other guys are, but I need you to know I ain’t. I’ve seen you walk away from getting whooped with a 2x4. I know you’re tougher than probably half the guys in this town.” Dallas doesn’t just tell anyone they’re tough. Hearing him call me that, I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of my lips. He went on, “When I saw you like that, though, in the lot, it scared me shitless, man. I’ve never seen you like that. You seemed so broken, and they messed up your face so bad, so I was worried it’d leave you--”

“Weak. Scared,” I suggested.

Dallas shrugged. “Maybe a little. Not really. I was more worried about--Johnny, you’re one of the few guys around here I’ve seen that hasn’t gone stone cold and hardened, especially guys who go through anything like you have. I was worried, after you looked so defeated...you’d get cold.”

I said nothing, and just studied his face. He didn’t look at me when he said it, at least not my face. He looked like he was looking past me, like he couldn’t bare to say these thoughts out loud and right to me. 

“I don’t want you to get cold, Johnny. I like you how you are. I worry about you because I care about you.” I still didn’t say anything. I just nodded. “So, Johnny. What are you gonna do?”

I shrugged. “All I can do is get tough.”

Dallas gave me a half grin. “D’you got a blade on you?

I felt the inside of my coat pocket. I didn’t. So I walked up to Dallas and snagged his out of his back pocket. I flicked it open once, giving it a once over, then flicked it closed and tucked it away. “Now I do.”

He gave me a smirk. “Alright then.” With a laugh, he gave me this joking speil: “You know Johnny, can’t do anything in times like these but get over it and get tough. You jive?”

“Yeah, I do Dal.” I popped my collar and turned for the door. “See ya, Dal.”

I could hear the smile in his voice as I walked out the door. “See ya, Johnnycakes.”

Dallas Winston doesn’t give a shit about anyone. Except for me, I guess.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun things you google when working on a fic part 1: signs of shock. what to do if you have a cracked rib. signs of a cracked rib. can you shave with a knife. how to shave with a pocket knife. cost of an ambulance in 1965. average height of men in the 1960s. when does taco johns close (not related i was just craving some potato oles).


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